


oh this is us, this is love and this is where I sleep

by buckybunnyteeth



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Fillory (The Magicians), Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Season/Series 04, Praise Kink, Self Confidence Issues, Talking Animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 20:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18301661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybunnyteeth/pseuds/buckybunnyteeth
Summary: He has no idea that King Idri came with the delegation.No idea until he walks around a particularly broad-shouldered Lorian and sees him. With Eliot. Practically sitting in his lap.Something as burning hot as lava starts up in his chest and Quentin knows he has to leave.Or; Quentin gets jealous.





	oh this is us, this is love and this is where I sleep

"I beg you, eat me up. Want me down to the marrow."

\- Hélène Cixous  from “The Love of the Wolf”

 

Quentin never got to spend as much time in Fillory as he really wanted to. He had thought when they killed The Beast, he would become a fully devoted King. But then everything with Alice, the loss of all Magic, the Quest for the Keys and the whole trial with The Monster had kept him from that.

So now here, standing in the middle of a full-on Fillorian ball, he feels very overwhelmed. Which may also be because he is crouched down speaking to a sheep about the indignantly of being sheered by humans.

“Oh, um- that sounds … humiliating.”

“Exactly,” Flora, leader of the Fillorian sheep says, her voice slurring and Quentin doesn’t know if she is drunk or if sheep have trouble forming English vowels, “It has adverse effects on our kinds self-esteem.”

“Yes I-I can imagine it would,” Quentin frowns, “I- you know I am a Magician, perhaps I could find a way for you to sheer yourselves? I mean, you would have control of your own fleece and you would have … privacy.”

Flora tilts her head and then bleats. It startles Quentin but he thinks it’s a happy sound from the way her tail is wagging.

“My people would be indebted to you, King Quentin,” she bows on her front legs, her blue ambassador's sash trailing on the floor, “You would be a friend to all Sheep.”

“Oh, thank you,” Quentin smiles at her, “I’ll look into it as soon as I can.”

Flora nods and then departs, being called away by Humbledrum the Bear.

Quentin stands, brushing off his knees. Margo had wrangled him into a midnight blue Fillorian suit. It's not as fancy as the ones Eliot wears, but it has a silver brocade and cufflinks shaped like jumping salmons. He is underdressed compared to Eliot in his black and red silk shirt, fitted suit jacket and high waisted pants. With his knee-high boots and artfully curled hair, he looked like a prince. But the plunging neckline of his shirt and the artfully placed necklaces said he wasn’t a Disney one.

Not that Quentin had seen Eliot in a couple of hours. He had been swept up the instant they entered the room by people who wanted to congratulate him on his alive status. Quentin had meant to be his shadow all night, still worried about how he was coping since becoming free of The Monster, and also worried about how the Fillorians would treat him since he wasn’t a king anymore. But the talking animals, who had heard about his kind nature had decided they would monopolize his attention tonight to plead their concerns. Quentin was happy to listen, and as he watched Eliot laugh and joke with members of the court he felt more at ease.

Margo appears at his side, looking regal and deadly beautiful in her flowing amethyst gown that matches her High Kings Crown. After returning to Fillory, Fen had pleaded with Margo to stay and help her govern. The only way they saw they could do it was for them to marry and for Fen to be named Empress, with the mermaids of the north seas making her a new crown. Quentin didn’t know how either woman felt about the arrangement, but from the time he had accidentally walked in on them in the library... they weren’t unhappy.

Margo slips an arm through his and smiles at him.

“Admit it, Coldwater,” she says cheekily, “I’m a fucking genius.”

Quentin smiles back at her.

It was her idea to come to Fillory while Eliot recuperated. After hearing how he was mentally trapped in the cottage for months and knowing that the Librarians were more hesitant to come to Fillory, it was hard to argue with her.

“Yeah, you’re a genius,” he agrees, as she leads him around the room, “…is he doing okay?”

“He seems like the old Eliot,” something like concern gleams in her eye for a moment, “Which … I don’t know what that means.”

Quentin sighs.

“He’s been different since he came back. More hesitant, restrained,” she continues, “We’ve all noticed, and that otter he’s been talking to told me-”

“You talked to his psychiatrist?”

“-she told me he’s been doing better mentally … but there are always going to be scars. I don’t think he wants anyone here to know how badly he was hurt.”

Quentin nods. He’s known for years now that Eliot wears masks to protect himself. He probably needs one now more than ever.

“Urgh,” Margo groans suddenly, “The fucking sloth is waving at me- I’m going to go hide with the centaurs. You’re on your own, Coldwater.”

Margo waltzes off in a flounce of amethyst and Quentin is alone again.  

“…Okay.”

He sets off to find some wine and is waylaid twice. Once by a Fillorian who wants to speak about trade routes, and then again by Abigail. After escaping that … long conversation, Quentin decides that he really needs to find Eliot. To hide himself in his personality and recharge for a while.

He hears Eliot’s laugh from across the hall and winds over there, smiling politely at everyone who inclines their head to him. He had decided against wearing his crown tonight, but he may as well have by the way people look at him. He … doesn’t know how to feel about that.

He draws closer to the sound of Eliot’s voice. It’s coming from somewhere in the middle of the Lorian delegation who will be staying for a few days while diplomatic relations are updated. Quentin hasn’t had much to do with them, he’s mostly been speaking with villagers and talking animals while he’s been here.

Which means he has no idea that King Idri came with the delegation.

No idea until he walks around a particularly broad-shouldered Lorian and sees him. With Eliot. Practically sitting in his lap.

Their heads are bent close together, and Idri has a hand resting on Eliot’s thigh as they smile at each other. As he watches Idri says something in a low voice and Eliot throws his head back in a joyous laugh.

Something as burning hot as lava starts up in his chest and Quentin knows he has to leave.

He spins around and heads out of the ballroom, grabbing a plate of cake as he goes, an excuse for his departure. He strides through the castle out to the gardens and gets all the way to the edge of the closest fountain before his legs give out. He sits down on the stone and feels all the heat leave him, all the anger and fuck- _jealousy_ disappear and leave him with something … empty.

He puts his head in his hands.

“You don’t have a right,” he tells himself in a voice that shakes, “It's not like- you don’t…”

Quentin squeezes his eyes shut and presses his palms into the orbits.

Since he got Eliot back, they haven’t talked about what they are to each other. Quentin had run himself ragged, almost killed himself to get Eliot back and when they were reunited it was one of the best moments of his life. And Eliot had looked at him like … just like he did when they were living at the mosaic.

But then Eliot collapsed and slept for a few weeks, and when he woke up, he was obviously traumatized. They hadn’t spoken about what they are too each other, at all.

He had thought since he wasn’t High King anymore his engagement to Idri would have been over, just like how his technical death had lifted the spell and marriage obligation from him and Fen, allowing her to marry Margo, and that they would-

They aren’t together. But Eliot spends almost every night sleeping in Quentin’s bed. And they spend all day together when they can. And he calls him darling just like he did before.

But none of that means anything. Not really.

_What the fuck is wrong with you?_

His mind sneers at him, as poisonous and clear as it was when he was holding the Abyss Key.

_Are you really that fucking entitled? You think just because you save him from being possessed, he owes you? He’s not yours, you don’t get a say in who he flirts with, who he fucks. He doesn’t want you, remember?_

Quentin shakes his head.

He is in love with Eliot. That doesn’t mean he gets a say in his life. It's his problem. Not Eliot’s burden.

He just-

He just needs a moment to be heartbroken on his own.

There is a soft splashing noise from beside him and he looks down to see an orange Koi Fish, staring up at him.

“Are you alright, majesty?” the Fish asks.

“Um, oh- yeah,” he clears his throat, “I actually have this.”

He holds up the cake and the Fish splashes around for a moment.

“Your majesty is most kind!” he blubs.

“Yeah well, you give good advice.”

The Fish helped him with a diplomatic quandary a week ago.

“My cousin gives prophecies,” he says with a sense of pride, “He lives in Chatwin’s torrent.”

“Oh… that’s nice.”

He is saved from saying anything else when he drops the cake into the water and the Fish instantly digs in.

Alone again he sits with his thoughts. His self-hatred and sadness battle for the loudest voice in his head and it leaves him exhausted.

And, for the first time since getting here, he misses Earth.

He sits in the garden for a while. Time loses all meaning, but he thinks he must have been there for a good few hours. Eventually, it starts to get too cold and the night too dark, so he goes back inside. He walks up the servant’s stairs so he bypasses the party that he can hear is still going strong. He walks through the corridors to his room and pushes open the door to his chamber-

-where Eliot is sitting on his bed.

“Oh,” he says, though he didn’t mean to say anything.

“There you are,” Eliot sighs, “I looked everywhere for you. When I couldn’t find you at the party, I thought you would be here, being a social outcast.”

“I was, um, feeding the fish.”

Eliot rolls his eyes.

“That fish is a know-it-all.”

Quentin shrugs. He doesn’t know what to say. He feels itchy and flighty. A nervous intruder in his own room.

But he doesn’t want Eliot to know anything is wrong. He already has enough to worry about, it would only make him hate himself more to add to it.

And, he thinks in a small sad voice, he doesn’t want Eliot to realize he is still in love with him. He can’t lose him again.

He would rather watch him flirt with a thousand handsome kings than ever lose him again.

“How was the party?”

“You were there,” Eliot chuckles, “For a while at least.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Quentin goes through the motions of getting changed into his pyjamas as Eliot talks, about how the Floating Mountain delegates got all uppity when a talking otter had insulted the state of their rivers, how Margo had got into an argument with Abigail that was only discharged when Fen intervened with cake, and how the Lorians were trying to renegotiate some of the terms of their trade deal.

“-they want more of this plant that only grows near the Rainbow Bridge, apparently it cures this really common aliment over there- some kind of lung disease thing. But they don’t want to offer anything in return which is just so annoying.”

“Hmmm,” Quentin runs a brush through his hair, keeping his gaze away from the other man lest it reveal how he’s feeling, “Maybe we could ask them for some of their quartz deposits? They don’t really use them, but we could use them to set up magical communication devices between the villages and the castle. Could really help us if anyone decided to invade or rebel again.”

Eliot hums.

“That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“You could bring it up with King Idri.”

Quentin keeps his voice neutral as he says it, even if he feels a fist close around his heart at the words.

“I should probably leave that to Margo and Fen. Anyway, you’re still royalty so you could negotiate for yourself.”

Quentin sits down on the side of the bed, still not looking at him.

“I just thought… because of your history, it might be better if you did it.”

“…Um, alright.”

“Maybe you should go now,” Quentin feels his eyes begin to burn, “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind seeing you.”

Eliot says nothing.

Then a large warm hand is cupping his chin and tipping his head back. Eliot looks down at him, frowning in concern.

“Q, what’s going on?” he asks softly, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Quentin insists, moving out of Eliot’s grip because it’s too tempting, “You- you just haven’t in a while, and I thought- I thought you would want to.”

“…Are you giving me permission to go fuck King Idri?”

“No! no-I,” Quentin scrubs a hand down his face, “You don’t need my permission, you don’t owe me anything, you’re not my…”

His words stop before he can complete the sentence. He is so close to tears it’s frustrating. He doesn’t know if he wants to cry of sadness or frustration, or just because he feels so empty when he has no right too.

Then his world is spinning, and he is on his back on the bed with Eliot looming over him, looking down at him darkly.

“I’m not your what?” he asks in a dangerous voice, “What aren’t I, Quentin?”

“El-”

“No. What aren’t I?”

Quentin sighs.

“…you’re not mine.”

Eliot stares down at him for a long moment, then he closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. He gets off Quentin and lays down beside him.

“I don’t want to fuck Idri, Q,” he says looking up at the ceiling, “I really thought you understood.”

Quentin feels something like panic kick up in his chest.

“If-if not him then someone, I know you’re still hurting but I don’t- I don’t want you to isolate yourself, and you went so long without- any of that, because of Fen and I just-”

“I don’t want to fuck anyone,” Eliot interrupts, “Anyone who isn’t you.”

That’s-

No that can’t be right.

Unless- oh.

Quentin is familiar. He is safe. He won't hurt Eliot. He’s someone he trusts.

Of course.

This is something else he can give him. Another way he can help.

“Oh,” Quentin swallows, “Well we can if you want to, I mean-”

 _It’ll break my heart_.

“-I’d like too.”

Eliot shakes his head.

“No, you aren’t getting it,” he runs a hand through his hair, making his artfully tussled curls messy, “I really thought I was being pretty obvious these past few weeks. But apparently not obvious enough for Quentin Coldwater.”

Quentin huffs, anger rising in his throat.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Eliot sits up and looks him right in the eye.

“When I was trapped inside my own body do you know what I had to do to break through that things hold on me?”

Quentin frowns, all his anger leaving.

“No.”

Eliot smiles and it looks brittle.

“I had to find my worst memory. The most painful, most fucked up thing I’ve ever done,” he fists a hand in the quilt like every word is painful, “And my worst memory was when I turned you down.”

Quentin feels like he can’t breathe.

“It- it was the worst thing I’ve ever done,” Eliot shudders, obviously struggling, “And I promised myself that when I got back, I would fix it and I thought-”

He cuts himself off

And, just like that, Quentin feels like he’s seeing in colour for the first time in his life.

All these weeks of living out of each other’s pockets, the casual touches, and secret smiles, sharing a bed and waking up tangled together every morning.

Eliot is the most emotionally stunted person Quentin has ever met. Of course, he would try and start, or restart or whatever, a relationship with him like this. Because talking is scary and dangerous, he let his actions speak instead. Quentin just hadn’t been paying attention to the right things.

“…I am a goddam idiot.”

Eliot chuckles.

“Yeah, but you’re a cute one.”

Quentin reaches out and lays a palm on Eliot’s chest, finally giving in to the temptation of that plunging neckline. Eliot presses his own hand over it as if he’s afraid Quentin is going to take it away.

“I…” Quentin swallows, willing himself to be brave, “I saw you with King Idri and I felt- I just, ah … I got jealous.”

A smile creeps across Eliot’s face.

“What?” he says like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard, “No way.”

“I did. I just- I saw you and him laughing and his hand on your thigh and I-I-”

“Had to go feed the talking fish to cool off,” Eliot bites his lip obviously taking delight from the whole thing, “What would you have done if you stayed? Started a fight over me?”

“What no,” Quentin scoffs, but then remembers the intensity of what he felt, “Well, maybe.”

Eliot laughs, joyful and loud. He lays back down next to Quentin, throwing an arm across his body as he continues to shake.

“Okay, it’s not that funny.”

“Q, sweetie, it really is,” Eliot presses his face into his shoulder, “it's also doing wonders for my ego. My little Q, starting a fight with a King just ‘cause he touched my knee.”

“Thigh- it was your thigh.”

Eliot laughs again and leans up on his hand. In this position, they are just centimeters away from kissing and it makes Quentin’s stomach squirm.

“Was it?” he teases, and then his eyes soften, “Idri is a friend, a very attractive friend yes but not anything more. Whatever happened between us, or could have happened, is over now for good. Or I hope it’s for good.”

He trails a hand down Quentin’s side, just lightly stroking him. Quentin thinks he looks a little vulnerable.

Which is when he realizes Eliot just confessed his feelings and Quentin hasn’t said a word about his own.

“It’s the same for me,” Quentin says, “I don’t want- don’t want to be with anyone but you. For fifty years or however long you want to be … together.”

“Did you just choke on the word boyfriends?”

“Shut up, I’m surprised you can even say it.”

“I’ve been working on it with Dr. Otter.”

Quentin smiles at him.

“ _Boyfriends_.”

“There you go,” Eliot pats his stomach, “You’re as emotionally advanced as the average middle schooler.”

Quentin hides his laughter in Eliot’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Eliot chuckles, running his fingers through Quentin’s hair, “Now that we have been emotionally vulnerable with each other, can I do what I came here to do?”

“Oh, okay. What was it you needed?”

“Well-”

The hand in his hair slides to cup the back of his head and Eliot pulls him into a kiss.

Quentin has fifty years’ worth of Eliot kisses stored in his memories, but this one still makes him lose his breath. He thinks if he weren’t laying down his legs may have given out because it feels like years since he got to have this. Got to feel this kind of … love.

He kisses back as well as he can, knowing he is being frantic, knowing his hands are gripping Eliot back too tightly.

Eliot pulls back with a gasp and begins shoving Quentin’s clothes off.

“Is it weird that thinking about you getting jealous is really, really hot to me?”

“Probably, I don’t care. Would you just-”

Quentin flips their positions so Eliot is under him, making it easier to get him out of his infuriatingly complicated clothes. Eliot makes an appreciative noise when Quentin manhandles him, smiling that wolfish smile that he only wears in the bedroom.

When they are finally free of their frankly ridiculously convoluted clothes, thanks Magro, Quentin presses himself all along Eliot, reveling in the feeling of being able to touch him finally.

“Ah, fuck,” Eliot groans, “You’re not even doing anything and I’m already-”

“I know,” Quentin kisses his way up Eliot’s throat, licking into the pivot of his jaw, “I’m the same- Jesus Christ.”

Quentin feels like he’s on the brink. Its been so long since he’s slept with anyone, and even longer since he’s slept with Eliot. It goes to his head and makes him feel light, makes his heart kick up in his chest like he’s running a fucking race.

He presses Eliot’s wrists down above his head, a silent command to keep them there, and kisses down his chest until he is sucking a mark into the pan of his hips.

“Oh my fuck,” Eliot gasps and then swallows, “I was- I was sort of picturing frantic handjobs under the sheets, but- fuck.”

Quentin smirks against his skin. Then he moves his mouth down and sucks the head of his cock into his mouth. Eliot’s hips come off the bed as he moans, and Quentin holds them down as he sucks all the way down into his throat.

“Ah!” Eliot gasps, writhing against the sheets.

Quentin gives him all that’s he’s got. He sucks him, slow and sweet, wanting to draw it out as long ass possible. When his throat begins to burn and Eliot’s moans are getting louder he pulls off and licks around the base of him.

“Quentin,” Eliot gasps, hands finally disobeying their commands to twine in his hair, “Please. _Please_.”

Quentin hums.

“Will you promise not to flirt with any other kings?”

“ _Fuck_ \- yes, just- _please_!”

Quentin smirks and then licks him back down, sucking harder and when he reaches back to trace a finger around his hole Eliot makes a choking noise, tenses, and comes down Quentin’s throat.

Quentin doesn’t pull off until he hears Eliot whimper.

With a satisfied smirk, he climbs back up Eliot’s body. He looks pleasantly flushed as he tries to catch his breath, twitching every so often and letting out a quiet groan.

As he watches his lover come down doubt creeps back into Quentin’s brain.

“Sorry- I didn’t mean that flirting thing,” he says quickly, “Its-its part of your personality, I know that, and I don’t want you to change-”

Eliot opens his eyes and looks up at him. It makes the words shrivel up and die in Quentin’s throat. He is the very image of debauchery, of lust, and it reminds Quentin that he is achingly hard.

Then Eliot reaches up and twists a hand in his hair to pull him down into a searing kiss. Quentin moans against his mouth, every sensation sending shocks down to his dick.

Then Eliot pulls his head back and it tugs on his hair. Quentin is too far gone to be embarrassed by the way he whimpers.

“Sweetheart,” Eliot coos against his lip, “You are so good to me. So good.”

The words light up like fire across his brain and he whimpers, hips thrusting forward to grind against Eliot’s stomach.

“Hmmm, do you want me to take care of you?”

“Y-yes!” he gasps, and oh god he can feel his whole body shaking in anticipation.

He gets another tug on his hair and his eyes roll back in his head.

“Will you keep being good for me?”

“Yes.”

Eliot sits up, pulling Quentin with him so he is now sitting in his lap. Then he flicks his fingers in a spell, and when he wraps his hand around Quentin’s dick it is warm, and slick, and perfect. He starts a slow pace, one that is torture with how desperate he feels, and he has begun letting out a long continuous moan that he is too far gone to even care about.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” Eliot asks as he drags his teeth against his neck.

Quentin can only whimper in response, his hips rolling forward into Eliot’s hand as he chases his pleasure.

Eliot pulls him down into another kiss as his hand speeds up, and Quentin can feel the pressure building, can feel himself starting to unravel when Eliot says against his lips-

“ _Darling_.”

-and he’s _gone_. His vision whites out as pleasure, beautiful starburst pleasure, takes over his body.

When his mind finally reboots he comes to laying back on the bed. The covers have been pulled up around him, and Eliot is laying beside him, tracing lazy patterns on his chest.

“Uh,” he says trying to speak, “I- uh …”

Eliot smiles and kisses his chest.

“Too much?”

“No,” Quentin laughs breathily, “That was- wow.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to wear your out on the first night.”

Quentin rolls his head, so they are looking into each others’ eyes.

“Are you okay?”

Eliot’s smile turns less Cheshire cat and more honest.

“I am … feeling better than I have in months,” he confesses in a near whisper, “And all I had to do was get you jealous.”

“Or you could have, you know, just- kissed me?”

“Hmm, I think this was better.”

Quentin chuckles and Eliot traces a shape oh his peck. A square, followed by a triangle inside of it. Like he is drawing a seal over his heart.

Quentin lays a hand over his and says;

“Hey, um- I love you.”

Eliot goes still and meets his eyes again. For a moment those words hang in the air, waiting for a reaction. Then Eliot leans forwards and kisses his forehead.

“You’re the love of my life Quentin Coldwater.”

He gets tingly all over again.

“Oh. Good.”

“Well, after Margo.”

“Of course.”

They keep their faces serious for two seconds before they dissolve into shared laughter.

Fillory is a dark and dangerous place. But in Quentin’s bedchamber, under the covers, all of that is forgotten. And for now, that is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> well here you go! 4 thousand words of queliot goodness, enjoy! ive seen a few q getting jealous fics and wanted to do my own
> 
> im valaswife on tumblr if you wanna follow!


End file.
